Houses Abound in New Jersey
by phantasmagorical
Summary: Third chapter. First House FF, or any, really. It's just your average day at PPTH. That is, until House shows up. No, not that House. And, no, it's not House's bastard daughter or whatnot.
1. A House Built

A/N: Okay. This is my first piece of "House" FF. Ever. So if anyone is actually going to read and review, please be kind. Unless you believe that my writing is atrocious and the storyline completely inconceivable. But I am totally open to constructive criticism. I'm not a doctor, and I don't play one on TV. Therefore, if there are any medical discrepancies in this story, please feel free to correct me. Most of the terminology I'm using is just stuff I know from my psychology courses, but I _have _done some research so I don't come off as incompetent.

Also, this is kind of AU. Some time late in season three, I suppose.

And, as a disclaimer, I don't own "House" or its characters. I'd add some witty remark about what would happen if I did, but it's been done so often, I can't even come up with a clever witticism. (Apparently I'm only good at redundancy.)

* * *

"Houses Abound in New Jersey"

by phantasmagorical

_Chapter 1_

"Alzheimer's? In a _seven-year-old_? No way, House. Do you know how rare that has to be? I don't even think it's possible," Dr. Eric Foreman said in protest to his boss' latest wacky differential.

"Oh, come on, Dr. Foreman! Open your mind, think outside the box," Dr. Gregory House replied in a tone befitting a Life Coach.

"No, Greg. He's right."

House turned around from his dry-erase board, perturbed that someone had used his first name. He dropped his mouth in genuine shock, a move that was very much unlike House. His employees turned around as well, greeting the visitor with suspect looks. "What are you doing here, Gwen? Manhattan not giving you what you need? Have to come and impose on my territory," he inquired.

"Ha! Trust me; New Jersey is the last place I'd rather be. Well, in the Northeast, anyway. They're so darn stuffy down south," newly-named Gwen said in a sarcastic tone similar to that of House's. "Anyway, I came here at the request of somebody we all hold near and dear to our large, swollen, bleeding hearts: Dr. Lisa Cuddy." She turned to House's three fellows and greeted them warmly. "Hi, I'm Gwendolyn House, little sister of that brute over there and the new head of Princeton-Plainsboro's Pediatrics unit." The three doctors looked at her in shock, turning their heads to look at House, who merely shook his head and laughed.

"Let me guess, Cuddy wanted you here to babysit me? What'd she offer you? Large office with a fantastic view of the local dump? An undeserved astronomical salary? Sex," House asked, his gruff voice drenched in sarcasm.

"Oh, Greggy, come now! You know that was only one time," she announced facetiously. "You're still jealous that Cuddy always liked me best? How sad for you." She laughed and said, "Well, I hate to cut this thrilling reunion short, but I have to go decorate my new office. It was nice to meet you all," she said, gesturing to Foreman, Chase and Cameron who were merely staring at Gwen in confusion. And with a wave of her hand and a smile on her face, Gwen sauntered out of House's office and into the hallway, happy that she could still keep up with her older brother.

Back inside the Diagnostic Unit, Dr. Allison Cameron was entirely perplexed. "I thought you were an only child," she asked House. "That's what you told me."

"I lied. It's a little story I like to tell," House retorted.

"Why? To garner sympathy and explain why you're so ridiculously self-centered and immature?"

"I'm very hurt by your words, my dear Allison. I thought you loved me." He pouted petulantly and turned to the dry-erase bored, studying his patient's symptoms.

"…then, why," Cameron persisted.

"Because I like it," he replied monotonously. "Now, our young friend Anna is suffering from Alzheimer's— yay or nay," he asked, changing the subject. No one replied. "I'll take that as a nay."

"Did you force Wilson to up your Vicodin prescription today, House? She _can't_ have Alzheimer's. And even if she did…well, that would be one for the record books" Foreman said dubiously.

"Oh, pish-posh! Didn't you hear? It's not just for elders anymore. It's all the rage on the playground."

"Will you, for once, stop making jokes and start taking things seriously," Foreman yelled, frustration seeping out from his pores.

"Well, gosh, Dr. Foreman, you don't have to be so mean about it," House replied, drying mock tears with his navy blue sports coat. Foreman shook his head in disgust and stormed out of the office.

"Uh…should we…go…after him," Chase asked, bewildered.

"No. Leave him, he'll come back," House soothed. "Now, back to work, you young medical geniuses..."

* * *

Foreman was muttering obscenities as he made his way to the cafeteria, or "The Grill," as the hospital liked to call it, furious at House for being so obnoxious and uncaring. As he continued his mental tirade, he was interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

"Whoa, there, cowboy," the voice joked, piping hot latte in hand.

Foreman looked up, and saw it was House's sister. This time he got a good look at her. She was no shorter than 5'6". Her light brown eyes complemented her chest-length hair of the same color, and it looked as though she had never frowned before in her life. Foreman noted that there was a radiant tone to her smile, which greeted him as he studied her practically perfect features."Sorry, Dr…uh…House. Hm. That feels...weird."

She laughed. "Yeah, but you'll get used to it. You could always just call me Gwen. I don't mind. So what's with the big hurry? Dr. Crankypants need his coffee fix, sent you to do it 'cause he's too damn lazy?"

"I'm assuming you mean that heartless jerk? No, I just couldn't stand being in the same room with him," he spat.

She looked at him in surprise. "Wow. Okay. I'm sensing some, uh…hostility. Hate my brother? It's okay if you do. Everyone does. Maybe because he's so tall and gangly," she said with mock thought.

In spite of himself, Foreman smiled. "Nah, no hate. I just…really dislike him. He turns everything into one large joke. He's never serious, just sarcastic and glib. I've worked with him for three years and I still don't understand him."

Gwen nodded. "Well, I've been related to him for thirty-seven years and I don't get him most of the time, either. Just don't let him get under your skin. I know, 'easier said than done.'" She smiled sympathetically at Foreman. As much as she loved her brother, she knew he never believed the cliché "you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar" to be true. "Look, I've gotta go, but try taking a stroll outside, clear your head, calm down— you'll be okay. I'll see you later...Foreman, right?"

Something in her eyes, perhaps the warm sympathy and compassion, made Foreman believe that everything could work out."Yeah— Eric, actually."

"Great. I'll see you later, Eric."

Foreman watched her walk away, surprised that someone that nice could possibly be related to that manipulative bastard.

After successfully taking a thirty minute walk around the hospital perimeters, Foreman headed back inside, hesitantly making his way back to the conference room. He knew House would most likely make a joke about "a quickie in the janitor's closet," and he was fully prepared to brush it off. As he reached the obscenely large glass door that lead to his usual work area, he breathed in heavily, hoping he wouldn't have to resort to grabbing his boss' cane and whacking him with it. But, no, he could never do that— that was too terribly violent and unfair. Laughing at his own sarcasm, he opened the door and waited for the glares and criticism that were bound to follow.

"Hey, Foreman! Got your sexual healing? Which nurse was it this time? Nurse Rosalie? I heard she digs all kinds of boys," House mockingly questioned.

Foreman merely shook his head and sat down. "Are we still considering Alzheimer's," he asked Cameron, whom he noticed was giving her typical, "are-you-okay-because-I'm-worried" look.

"We still think it could be a possibility," she said with obvious doubt and appeasement, "but we're also considering a severe case of retrograde and anterograde amnesia, and a severe case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Which, really, is kind of the definition of dementia in a child," House reminded.

Foreman nodded. "That makes sense, though anything makes more sense than Alzheimer's in a child," he said, ignoring House. "But Anna's history shows a clean bill of health: no brain damage or trauma, no illness of any kind."

"Not necessarily," Cameron argued, "We're deeply considering some sort of sexual molestation— most likely accompanied by emotional abuse to boot."

"Right, but we gave her a full body exam when she was admitted because we suspected molestation— no vaginal scarring or sign of penetration at all," Foreman argued.

"But there's always something we could have missed," Cameron said.

"Cameron's right," House announced, earning him a pleasantly surprised look from Cameron. "We're all blundering idiots with medical licenses. Why _do_ they trust us?" House smiled sarcastically at Cameron, who rolled her eyes in return.

Chase, who had remained quiet for most of the day, smirked and said, "Why don't I run a SPECT scan? Maybe Cameron _is_ right. We could have missed something."

"Or maybe she has _Alzheimer's!_" House yelled.

"House, you know it's near impos-"

"Fine, fine, fine. Chase: go run a SPECT, Cameron: go...hug someone, and Foreman: go take an accurate and thorough family history. We'll reconvene in sixty-two minutes. I need my hourly snort of coke." House limped to his office, grabbing the phone and demanding that Wilson buy him a Reuben—no fries, hold the pickle.

Foreman couldn't help but race out of the conference room.

"Foreman! Wait up," Cameron called.

Foreman stopped and rolled his eyes. "Yeah?"

Cameron winced at his tone. "I just wanted to make sure that you're okay."

"I'm fine, thank you. He just gets to me sometimes."

"I know. But if you ever want to vent or just need to talk...I'm here."

"Thanks. I'll let you know." He smiled and headed towards Anna's room.

Cameron was left with nothing to do, so she decided to do House's clinic hours.

* * *

Fifteen minutes after he had been beckoned, Wilson appeared, Reuben in hand. He took a seat across from House. "How much do you owe me, now? I think we're in the trillions."

"Oh, Jimmy, _I _know that _you_ know that my friendship is payment enough," House replied cheerily.

"You have more wrinkles than usual. What's up," Wilson asked, changing the subject while taking a jab at his friend.

"You'll never guess who the new head of Pediatrics is," House said with feigned excitement, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

"They fired Oscar?"

"Suppose so. But, come on, guess!" Another bite.

"House, you just said I'll never be able to guess." House looked up and stared at him blankly. "Oh, _fine_. Ronald McDonald," Wilson asked.

House grinned triumphantly, "Ha! You're wrong! It's my sister." House noted that the color in Wilson's face drained, and then turned a peculiar shade of red. "I take it you're not happy about this?" He was genuinely surprised, as Wilson and his sister always got along very well.

"No, no. Of course I'm happy. Gwen is a wonderful doctor. I'm just...surprised, that's all," Wilson said, covering for his physical blunder. "I didn't even know Cuddy was thinking of firing Dewdy."

"Ah, Oscar Dewdy. I think he went crazy, actually. Yeah, the kiddies couldn't stop giggling at him when he introduced himself." House did his best impression of a child, "Hee, hee! He said _'doody_,_' _Mommy!"

Wilson laughed. "I'm sure that's why. Besides, I thought Gwen was happy at Mount Sinai?"

"Last I heard, she was. I've gotta get to the bottom of that one, don't I?"

"Of course you do. She's your sister, you should find out if there's anything wrong," he said eagerly.

_Too eagerly_, House thought. "Nah! That's your job. I just want to spy and look through her files. It'll make Cuddy mad."

Wilson rolled his eyes and got up. "That's great, House. Spy on your own sister," he said incredulously. "Look. I've got a patient in ten minutes. Promise me you'll talk to Gwen." Before House could even open his mouth, Wilson corrected himself. "Nevermind, promises mean jack to you. I'll see you later, House."

"Toodles!" House checked his watch. It was 3:15, and he was missing "General Hospital." He sat in his chair, watching Sonny Corinthos once again break his scotch glass against a wall, and trying to figure out what could possibly bring his sister to PPTH.

About an hour later, Cameron, Chase and Foreman entered the conference room. House grunted and sat up. He walked out into their meeting area.

"So, my darling children, any news on our patient," House asked cheerily. "General Hospital" had ended with a bang...literally. Sonny and Jason were almost killed by Alcazar! (Again!) There were red hues, slow motion action, mob music and everything! It was riveting television.

"Her SPECT was clean," Chase said matter-of-factly.

"Right, just as I thought it would be. Foreman, go do a biopsy," House said with an air of nonchalance.

"What? Why should we perform a biopsy? That's unnecessary and dangerous, House," he replied.

"Because we need to know if she's got Alzheimer's. I don't know about you, but I sure as hell don't want to wait until post-mortem to find out that I was right," House said smugly.

Foreman put his hands up, as if he were surrendering. "I give up. You guys wanna give it try?"

Cameron and Chase looked at each other, unsure of how to approach their boss. He was getting out of hand, and they weren't sure how to handle him. If they refused, there was a major possibility that House would find a way to do the biopsy on his own. If they agreed, they could be potentially killing a child.

Cameron spoke first. "I don't think it's a good idea. A biopsy is dangerous on an_ adult_. But a child? House, she's so young. Her brain is still going through major developments. A biopsy could leave her brain dead," she said quietly.

"Coward." He looked at Chase. "_Chase_ is my girl. What do you say?"

Chase scowled. "I agree with Cameron," he said defiantly.

"Of course you do, you lovesick puppy." He grabbed Anna's file, turned to his white board and sighed. He erased all of the original symptoms. "Since you're all a bunch of morons, we're starting over. Give me all of her symptoms again and we'll go from there. No interruptions."

"Except one," Gwen House said. "Good afternoon, everyone."

"What do you want, Gwen," House asked, agitated.

"Nice to see you, too. But don't worry about the symptoms— Cuddy gave it to me, anyway," she announced.

House smiled. "Of _course_ she did. All right, take 'er. But don't come crying to big brother when you can't figure out what her problem is."

She walked over to her brother to grab the file. "The file, please."

House looked confused. "The file? But, why?" Gwen glared. "Oh! ...OH! You mean Cuddy gave you this _case_? I thought you just had a romantic rendezvous in the supply closet. Silly me. Here, take it," he said, shoving the file in her face.

Gwen rolled her eyes and turned to House's employees. "I think I'm going to nominate the three of you for 'Doctors of the Year.'" She turned back to House. "Thanks for the file, and enjoy your evenings." She turned and left, a small smile of satisfaction coming to her face.

"You're dismissed," House said, gesturing for Cameron, Chase and Foreman to leave.

"You're just going to let her swoop in and steal your case," Cameron asked in disbelief.

"Cuddy's orders," House stated simply.

"Since when do you listen to Cuddy," she retorted.

"I always listen to Mama Bear," House quipped. "See ya later, ladies." He turned on his cane and headed towards his office. He turned the lights off and relaxed in his chair.

Foreman stood up and shrugged, walking over to the kitchen area to make some coffee.

"Why aren't either of you upset about this," Cameron asked in a huff. "How unfair is it that she's here for one day, and Cuddy immediately gives her this case? I mean, isn't there something we could-"

"Cameron. It's one case. No big deal," Foreman laughed, attempting to get Cameron off her soapbox.

"How can you say that? We have no idea what's wrong with that girl. She could be dead by midnight."

"Or she could be treated properly by a _sane_ doctor," Chase broke in, hoping to calm Cameron down.

She sighed and stewed for a minute. "You're right," she said, rubbing her temples. "I suppose she's in good hands. Dr. House... _House's sister _can't be too bad."

"Actually, she's the best pediatrician on the East Coast," Foreman chimed in.

"How would you know," Chase asked.

"I looked her up online," He said. "She's highly renowned. Knows her stuff. I guess genius runs in the family."

"Yeah, but let's hope that this genius doesn't come hand in hand with egomaniacal bastardry," Chase replied.

The three laughed and moved on from the incident. House heard the laughter, wishing he could hit the three of them over the head with his cane to make them shut the hell up. He needed to recoil from his day. He massaged his bad leg, slightly easing the cramp that was beginning to form. He couldn't wait to go home.

* * *

A/N: Dr. Dewdy was actually the name of my pediatrician many years ago. No, I'm not kidding. I laughed. Not in his face, but I was inwardly cracking up. ...I was six. 


	2. A House Robbed

A/N: This chapter is very different from my first, mainly because I wanted to focus more on building up Gwen's validity as a character. It's also probably a bit melo-dramatic, especially for a second chapter. Also, House will seem very OOC here, but I just figured that he might actually show care and concern for his own blood. Okay, that's a big assumption. But, hey - deep down, Gregory House might just be a big ol' teddy bear. (…hah!)

To my two reviewers: Thank you both _so much_ for your positive feedback. I really, really appreciate it.

* * *

Dr. James Wilson sat in his darkened office, completely engrossed in his thoughts. Gwendolyn House was a name he had heard often, usually accompanied by some sort of praise; a voice he could always recognize, though it was rare that he had heard it directly; a face he hadn't seen in four years, but still could picture perfectly. She was elusive to him in every way possible. All he had were thoughts and memories. And although he every so often was able to completely forget she existed, it was rare for him to find a day where he didn't think about the last time he spoke to her and every moment before that. Recently he had become busy with patients, as well as with his divorce settlement, that he couldn't even make room in his mind for anything – or anyone – else. Even Gwendolyn House. He was most certainly not expecting her to show up at his hospital. Well, it wasn't _his_ hospital, but…he had been there long enough. What could have even driven her to come from Manhattan to Jersey? It obviously wasn't the state itself – Jersey was nice, sure, but Manhattan? Nothing like it. Did Lisa tell her about Greg's brain cancer plot? About Tritter? About, well, _everything_ he's done lately? Maybe she thought -

"Wilson. I need your help with something," Dr. Lisa Cuddy said in a rush, imposing on Wilson's rapidly moving mental soliloquy.

He looked up at her, his agitation obvious. "What is it," he asked, hoping his feigned concern was convincing enough.

"I have a Beneficiary meeting today, and I need someone to show our newest department head around the hospital."

Wilson's mouth went as dry as his body would allow. He couldn't do it. Cuddy tilted her head, an obvious sign of confusion, and he knew he had to cover. He pointed to some paperwork he had on his desk. "I, uh…I had a lot patients today. Lots of paperwork to write up, I'm afraid. Sorry." He picked up a folder and pretended to work.

Cuddy folded her arms and smirked. "You're lying. You had, like, _five _patients today. If you're not done with all the paperwork already, I don't what I'm paying you to do here. You're doing it, no protests."

"Why? Why don't ask one of the nurses to do it? They'd probably love the break." A reasonable suggestion, he thought.

"Why such a protest? House is your best friend, you have to know his sister," Cuddy said, surprised at Wilson's unwillingness to aid a "damsel in distress."

"Of course I do. Gwen and I have always been good friends." He immediately regretted his words, as he knew that would only further Cuddy's cause.

"Great! Then when your shift is over in ten minutes, you can give her a tour of the hospital. It'll give you time to catch up. How's that sound?"

_Terrible. Absolutely terrible. I can't do it, Cuddy. No. I refuse._ In spite of the obnoxious voice in his head, Wilson mustered up the nicest smile he could manage and said, "Sounds good. I'll be glad to do it."

"Thank you so much, Wilson. You know me: normally I'm so hands on, but with the benefactors I just can't-"

Wilson had to try his hardest not to crack a joke about Cuddy's "hands on" comment. _Oh, wonderful. I'm turning into Greg. _"I got it. I understand."

Cuddy smiled. "Of course you do. Thanks again. I owe you."

_Yes, you do_. "Don't worry about it." Wilson looked down at the completed file until Cuddy left his office, inwardly cursing her. "How the hell am I supposed to do this," he questioned no one in particular. And with only ten minutes to collect himself. He could just picture what would happen. He'd get red, fumble over his words, forget the name of every wing, department and important staff member, and make a complete fool out of himself. And, of course, Gwen would merely smile at him brightly, her demeanor as kind, gentle and patient as he remembered. He hated her. That is, if hate were the new euphemism for unadulterated, unrelenting and unrequited _love_. He got up from his desk and made his way to her office, cursing Cuddy and her impeccably awful timing and his own passive-aggressiveness.

* * *

Gwendolyn House sat at her newly assembled glass desk, studying her first official case at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. It was most certainly interesting. A female patient presents with classic Alzheimer's symptoms, but there's only one problem: she's a child, and Alzheimer's is normally found only in the elderly. There isn't even a family history of dementia. Nothing should point to Alzheimer's and dementia, yet everything does. Frustrated, Gwen stood up and began to organize her files, something she had yet to start.

"Tough case," an all-too recognizable voice asked with blatant amusement.

She turned around. "Hey, Greggy," she said, using the endearment she knew her brother hated. "Not 'tough' at all," she lied. The last thing she needed was Greg riding her about a case. "I just decided that this place was too messy. Needed a break, anyway."

House looked at her practically empty office. There was an oversized glass desk, a large silver bookcase with opaque glass shelves, and a white trash bin. "Going minimalist, huh?"

"No time for decorating. I was overwhelmed by the amount of people wandering in to tell me how much they admired me," she said, feigning arrogance.

"No ego _whatsoever_," he said facetiously. His mood then made the surprising shift from jocular to serious. "Why are you here, Gwen?"

"I screwed every straight man in New York. And a few gay ones, too. I figured I'd conquer Jersey," she joked, hoping with all she had in her that her brother wouldn't play bodyguard now.

"I'm being serious."

"Ha! You don't know the meaning of the word, Greggy." She picked up a few medical books and placed them accordingly on her bookshelf.

"Gwen, please. You loved Mount Sinai, and you loved Manhattan. You were supposedly the happiest you've ever been." He leaned against the wall, concerned that there actually could be something very wrong with his sister.

"I needed a change," she shrugged. "I was talking to Lisa one day, told her how bored I was. She suggested I come here. I didn't tell you because I wanted to shock you right out of your sneakers. Apparently the doctor who preceded me couldn't handle working with children. Why he became a pediatrician is beyond me," she answered, trying to divert attention from Greg's original question. She added two more books to her collection. They had nothing to do with medicine, but Gwen kept them there to save her sanity on particularly rough days.

House smirked. He could just picture Oscar Dewdy snapping at the millionth patient who dared laugh at his beloved last name. After the amusing image had finished playing in his head, he became serious once again. "'I needed a change' doesn't fly with me. What's the real reason?"

She let out an aggravated sigh. "That _is_ the real reason, Greg. I don't what more you want from me."

"I want the truth," he said softly. He looked around her office once more, in search of a chair, grimacing in pain.

"There are two chairs behind those boxes," she said, pointing to the right hand corner of her office. "Would you like me to grab one?" She knew his leg had to be acting up.

He merely nodded, grabbing his Vicodin bottle and popping a white pill in his mouth.

As Gwen brought the chair back, she shook her head. "That is _so_ unhealthy, Greg. Haven't you even _considered_ rehab?"

"Of course I have. I just came to the utterly brilliant conclusion that rehab is for screwed up junkies who live alone in complete misery. Why should I be forced to put up with their self-righteous 'my _mommy_ made me do it!' bitching?" He sat down and sighed in relief.

Gwen looked at him blankly. "...you know what's sad about that statement? You're actually serious." She walked back to her boxes, rummaging through the smallest one.

House sighed. "Will you stop that," he yelled. Gwen turned around and looked at him with caution. "I'm sorry. I just…what the hell is going on?" House wasn't in control of his emotions. He couldn't mock his sister, couldn't bicker with her until the earth ceased. The only thing he wanted was to check on her – make sure she was okay. God, how he hated caring so damn much.

"Nothing, Greg. I. Needed. A. Change. Why is that so difficult for you to comprehend? Because _you_ don't like change? So what? Not everyone is like you. Not everyone can look at every single situation with such apathy and an ice heart. Not everyone is a damn cynic. Some people can _feel_, some people can _care_ and _love_. We can't all be like the marvelous, world-renowned Gregory House," she spat. She inhaled sharply, closed her eyes, and exhaled. She opened her eyes and looked at her brother, whose own eyes were fixated on her carpeting. He was slumped in his chair. She couldn't read him. "Greg, I…I'm sor-"

"No, you're not, he replied, his voice barely audible. He pushed himself up from the chair, refusing to look at his sister. "Time for me to go. You know how...cranky I get when I don't...sleep." His voice was raised, but unsteady. He began to walk away, then stopped, his back to Gwen. "It's a shame I live a lonely, miserable life. Perhaps if I could get over this small, manageable pain in my leg, I could be happy and bright-eyed and nice to all living creatures. I could love all humanity and everything would be sunshine and rainbows. I could be like _everyone else_," he said, his tone bitter, cold and cutting. He walked to the door, pulling it open and walking out, eyes still fixated on the floor beneath him.

Gwen could do nothing else but watch him walk away and regret what she had said. Her first day working with her brother and she had screwed it up royally. She looked back at her boxes, noticing that the item she was searching for was packed in the wrong box. It was a picture frame. She tossed it on the floor and broke the glass with the heel of her black, paten-leather stiletto shoe. She sat in the same chair her brother had recently occupied, staring at her left ring finger and cursing its barren features. Cursing its power over her. Cursing the moment it had become noticeable from miles away. A gleaming, blinding, Tiffany-cut diamond. _A_ _sham_.

* * *

As House left Gwen's office, he looked up to find Wilson heading his way. He groaned in anticipation, searching for some quick escape route. Nothing. He was trapped.

"House," James Wilson's voice called. His friend seemed to be brooding, which was never a good sign for any member of the human race.

"Not now," House replied with exhaustion. His pain wasn't subsiding. The Vicodin hadn't helped one bit. "I've got a hot hooker at home. Bambi, I think her name is." He tried to make a joke, but his body wouldn't allow it.

Wilson knew something was definitely up. "Come on. Don't play 'hide and seek,' Greg. I'll figure it out eventually." House turned to face his friend. Wilson was shocked to see the pain on his face. "Whoa. What the hell_ happened_ to you," he asked, his voice laced with concern.

"I made good on my promise: went to visit my sister."

"And she...what? Grabbed your cane and jabbed you in the stomach? What'd you do to deserve _that_? Or should I ask what _didn't_ you do to -"

"James...shut up. And don't follow me. I'm not your owner, though you're like my own personal obedient, little poodle." He reached into his pocket and grabbed his empty Vicodin bottle and threw it across the hallway. "Here, go fetch and bring me more candy." Wilson stared at him icily. House rolled his and walked away. "See ya tamara!" He sighed, content that he seemed to have his notorious wit back. Gwen hadn't ruined his night just yet.

Wilson was incredibly perturbed. Perturbed and peeved, but more the former than the latter. Not only does Gregory House never miss a good hooker joke, he never shows any battle wounds. He's ice: cold, sealed and seemingly unbreakable. A sarcastic, occasionally sadistic brute. He perpetuates the stereotype that the wounded are bitter and closed-off. House never showed emotional pain. Hell, he didn't even like to show physical pain, though sometimes that was unavoidable in his situation. Gwen must have turned into some kind of bitch if House actually was outwardly hurt by another human being. He walked – raced, actually – to Gwen's office and slammed open her door. "What just happened between you and Greg?" His previous romantic thoughts and wild imagery were gone from his mind, replaced with disbelief and anger.

Gwen was sifting through files, trying to figure out what she needed and what could be tossed, until she heard a painfully familiar voice. She turned around, taking the sight of James Wilson in. She hadn't seen him in years. He looked...the same. It was good. "James," she breathed. "It's...I'm...how are you?" She smiled brightly.

Wilson, who's every muscle was entirely tense, eased his temper. He couldn't believe that she looked exactly the same. It was..._good_. The thoughts were back, the anger melting away with only one smile. He realized, however, that she was pulling her avoidance act. "Don't...don't do that, Gwen. Don't circumvent questions you don't want to answer. What happened?"

She averted her eyes. "It's nice to see you, too," she whispered. Wilson hadn't heard her. He merely gaped at her, awaiting her answer with baited breath. She let out a small laugh, though there was nothing funny about her hissy fit. She didn't say anything.

"Gwen?"

"I blew up at him. I called him cold, apathetic, unfeeling, uncaring, unable to love. I was cruel. I...was...worse than him," she said, realizing the extent of her tantrum.

Wilson shook his head. He got it, now. For as hardened as House pretended to be, he was as soft as one could be when it came to Gwen. "When he hears those kind of things from other people – from patients, really, he doesn't care. He labels them as insecure idiots. You know him, Gwen. Why would you say that to him? Knowing, full well, how easily hurt he is. How easily he bruises."

"Come on, James. He can take it. He certainly dishes it out like it means nothing." She knew that was a lie.

"So he deserves to have his only sibling rip into him, making him feel like absolute rubbish?" He noticed that Gwen looked as though she were about to break down in sobs. He rubbed his forehead and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry. It's just...Greg's had it rough lately, though most of it is his own fault. He probably figured that with you here, he wasn't alone. Yeah, he's always had me to fall back on, but half the time I don't want to deal with him – can't deal with him. But you...," he trailed off, unsure of where to go with this. "Gwen, when you die, you're going to be nominated for sainthood for the kind of miracles you worked with him."

Gwen rolled her eyes. She had heard this speech before. "Of course he didn't deserve that. I know he didn't. It's just...sometimes you can't control your emotions. You understand that better than anyone."

"What could he have said that caused an outburst, though," he asked, knowing he was beginning to walk on thin ice.

"It was...nothing. I've just been stressed. I took it out on him." She turned her back on him, continuing with her files.

James threw his arms up and laughed incredulously. "This is what happened, isn't it? He wanted to know why you suddenly decided to give up a department head position at one of the East Coast's most prestigious hospitals to come here. There's a reason, but because _you_ didn't want to talk about it, you gave him the cold shoulder, cracked jokes and avoided and confrontation. Typical Gwen." His tone was much more bitter than he intended.

"Because you know me so damn well, James," she spat sarcastically, turning around to face him, anger clearly painted on her face.

"Actually, I do. I know you well enough to know that no matter what kind of secret you're hiding, you'll do whatever you can to avoid talking about it. You despise conflict and confrontation. Yet you couldn't make an exception for your own flesh and blood. It's pathetic, really." He winced at his own words and stupidity. She was far from pathetic. She was just afraid. Always afraid.

That was it for Gwen. "Get out," she ordered simply and quietly, rage boiling inside her, dying to get out. "You had the right to speak to me like that once, but not anymore. Leave."

"I'll leave, but not before I say one more thing." He looked at her for approval. She nodded. He sighed. "Lisa sent me here to give you a tour of the hospital. I was horrified. I was afraid you'd still be perfect and I'd still be...me." She opened her mouth to say something, but he wouldn't let her speak. "I'm still me," he continued, "but you're not the same Gwendolyn House I fell..._ I knew_. I don't know why that is, but I would like to find out. But not until you swallow your pride and apologize to Greg. And if you can do that and actually mean it...well, you'll restore my faith in humanity as a whole." He flashed a small smile and saw her features soften. "Have a good evening, Gwen," he said sincerely, walking out of her office and making his way back to his, hoping that she wouldn't follow him.

James had left Gwen speechless. That wasn't how their reunion was supposed to go. She was supposed to give him one smile and he was supposed to sweep her into his arms and nothing was supposed to have changed between them. _Supposed to_. She had come to Princeton-Plainsboro relying on childish assumptions, and nothing was going as she had envisioned. Her brother, James, Lisa...they were still the same. It was she who had changed. And it was _that_ change that she needed to change. She was just grateful for second chances.

* * *

A/N: I know, I know. Drama, some cheese, cliches. Resolutions and exposition to follow. I promise. 


	3. A House Mended

A/N: I'm completely guessing as to House's age. I know Hugh Laurie is just turned forty-eight, and I believe House is supposed to be around that age, so…he is in this story. 'Cause I said so, that's why.

As an extra disclaimer: I don't own any of the brands listed, nor do I own _Grey's Anatomy. _But, boy, if I did...it'd be so much better. Woops, there's that ego.

And a warning: Some part of this case may gross out those with weak stomachs. (Think of a synonym for _a lot_ of…doody.)

* * *

Chapter 3

Dr. Gregory House arrived at Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital an hour later than usual. He had an abnormally terrible sleep, which he figured had everything to do with his sister's surprisingly harsh tongue-lashing, as well as with her actual arrival. He walked into his office, blatantly ignoring his bored employees, and tossed his backpack on a random chair. As he made his way to his desk, he noticed a rather large wicker basket placed on the floor. The cellophane wrapping was a bright blue that matched his own cerulean eyes, and he smirked as he realized what the basket was full of. Attached to it was a small note, the handwriting neat and cursive. It read:

_Greggy -_

_I can't tell you how much I regret my words last night. I let my emotions get the better of me and I blew up at the wrong person. You did nothing to deserve my outburst. For what I said, and for hurting you, I apologize._

_To ease your pain, here's a basket of "everything you shouldn't eat but you don't give a damn because it tastes that good." Enjoy it. (And __no sharing.)_

_- Lynnie_

House picked up the basket and placed on top of his desk. He detached the note, folded it neatly and placed it in his jean pocket. He took a scissor and ripped the cellophane apart, his mouth practically watering at the goodies inside: tons and tons of his favorite childhood candies. There were Pop Rocks, Rock Candy, boxes of Fralinger's Salt Water Taffy, Dots, Good & Plenty, Mexican Hats, Swedish Fish, candy necklaces, wax lips, pixie sticks (the large ones that are completely unnecessary, but worth it in _so_ many ways), jawbreakers, Lemonheads, Teaberry gum, and the only chocolate bar he would ever eat: Rocky Road. He was blown away by Gwen's gesture, and he couldn't help but smile excitedly just as he did when he was a kid.

Although he was eleven years old when Gwen was born, he made sure that she loved the same candies he did – practically forced them down her throat the second he could, though she, like most women he knew, seemed particularly fond of all kinds of chocolates. Except anything with coconut. According to Gwen, it was the absolute worst thing any human being could've done to chocolate. That criticism was given complete with a scrunched up nose and a pout only she could master. He was brought back from his tangent when Chase entered his office.

"House," he said urgently.

House looked up at him with annoyance, as his candygasm was rudely interrupted. "Yes?"

"What's with that," Chase asked, motioning to Gwen's apology gift.

"Oh, it's just drugs disguised as classic candies. Sister's a pusher. Now what do you want?"

"We've got a case," Chase said, trying to decide whether or not House was serious.

"Oh, goody! I'll bring my basket of candy and we can all braid each other's hair," he exclaimed mockingly.

Chase rolled his eyes and walked back to his seat. He smiled at Cameron, who raised her eyebrows in what House and Foreman were left to assume was a seductive gesture.

"All right you horn dogs, who attempted suicide with an infected razor today," he inquired.

Foreman merely rolled his eyes. "Twenty-two year old female. Patient presents with a rash on her…what does that say," Foreman asked the inanimate file, "va-jay-jay?"

Chase whipped his head to look at Foreman, entirely confused. "Her _what_? Is that some American term I've yet to learn?"

Cameron could only laugh, as she knew the meaning of the phrase and where it allegedly originated. After she recovered she said, "Guys: it's another word for 'vagina.' _Grey's Anatomy _used it last year and it become somewhat of a cultural phenomenon among women."

"_You_ watch _Grey's Anatomy_," Foreman asked amusedly.

"Only to see how off they are with their medical cases, if they ever have one," she stated.

"Sure you do, Cameron. It has nothing to do with the eye candy the show provides. Or do you no longer need that yummy Patrick Dempsey because you've got the prettiest Brit in all the land," House grinned, looking to Chase.

"House! For the last time: I'm not English," Chase protested.

"Any other symptoms," House asked Foreman, ignoring Chase completely.

Foreman glanced at the file again. He nodded. "She's got IBS-D."

"Ah, there's nothing I love more than the smell of fowl bowel in the morning," he sniffed. "So, any ideas?"

"Well, if she has IBS, she could be having a bad reaction to the medication she's taking – Alverine and Mebeverine are known to cause rash." Cameron chimed.

Chase and Foreman said nothing. House frowned. "What, no argument? Nothing? Nada? Zip?"

Foreman shrugged. "It makes sense." Chase nodded in agreement.

House rolled his eyes. "What a bunch of sissies." He looked up at the glass doors and noticed Wilson was having a one of his Serious Conversations with a patient. As they started to walk further from House's office, House walked as quickly as he could to the door, pulled it open and yelled as loudly as possible, "Hey, Dr. Wilson! You have _Irritable Bowel Syndrome_, right?"

Wilson stopped in his tracks and sighed heavily. He looked to his patient, shook his head and apologized. He walked over to House. "What now?"

House smirked. "My patient presents with IBS and a rash on her _VAGINA_," he yelled, garnering him odd looks from the passersby. "What's up with that?"

"You're kidding, right," Wilson asked flatly. "It's a reaction to whatever medication she's most likely taking."

"Think of something better than that," House protested.

"Why? So you can pump the patient with unnecessary medication, worsening her condition and creating new symptoms that you can claim were originally hiding when in reality it's all your doing," Wilson exhaled, unintentionally ranting.

"Well, geez! You don't have to be all huffy about it," House said, walking back to the conference room.

"It's not a reaction," House announced, opening the door and walking over to his dry-erase board.

"What makes you think that," Foreman asked.

"Wilson said it was. And you know how he just _sucks_ as a doctor. So, naturally, I'm going to believe it's whatever Wilson says it's _not_." House took the cap off of his black marker and wrote "IBS" and "rash on her very private part" sloppily.

Cameron, Chase and Foreman rolled their eyes, but had to stifle laughter.

House turned around. "Differential?"

"STD," Chase replied.

House nodded. "Sure, but I definitely wouldn't want to hit that after she's eaten nuts."

Cameron groaned in disgust. "Zinc deficiency? Explains the diarrhea."

"But she's got IBS," Foreman countered.

"Yeah, but what if it's a misdiagnosis?"

"Right. But diarrhea would be her only symptom in this case. And she's got a rash, not skin lesions," Foreman countered.

Cameron nodded her head. "You're right. So what do you think it is, then?"

"Hey, I'm with you: allergic reaction. Granted, it's an odd place for a rash, but it's what best befits the symptoms."

House sighed in disappointment. "Can't you people," he began, but was interrupted by a high-pitched choir of pagers. He rolled his eyes. "Go do my job," he said to his employees.

Cameron, Chase and Foreman scurried out of the office and down to their patient's room.

"What's going on," Foreman asked one of the nurses. Their pagers had told them nothing, only that there was an emergency.

"I can't see," their patient yelled hysterically. "I can't…." She cried in pain, and the room began to reek of human feces, and Cameron lifted up the patient's blanket and hospital gown to find a fresh, dark brown stain.

Foreman looked away. "Oh, god."

"What is it," the patient cried. "What?!"

"You can't…smell that," Chase asked cautiously.

"Smell what," she asked with trepidation.

All three doctors looked at each other dubiously as their patient continued to scream and cry. "Emily," Cameron said. She got no response. "Emily – it's going to be okay. You just need to calm down. Please, calm down and we'll be able to help you." She placed her hand on the frightened young woman's shoulder in comfort. Emily slowly calmed down. "You're going to be okay. We're going to help you," she said softly.

"I just want to know what's happening. I can't see, and apparently I can't smell. What happened," she cried.

"You…you," Chase started, trying to figure how to word what he was trying to say. "You had an…_accident_," Chase said hesitantly, afraid that she might freak out again.

She groaned. "I'm not five, doctor. You can tell me that I crapped my bed."

Cameron let out a small, quiet laugh. "Okay, Emily, we have to go, but the nurses are going to stay here and take care of you." Emily nodded, and the three young doctors walked back to House's office.

* * *

As House took a seat in front of his white board, he heard a soft knock at his door. He turned around to see his sister smiling at him, both hope and anxiety writhing her features. He gestured for her to enter, smiling at her warmly. "Hi," he said gingerly.

"Hi." An awkward silence took hold of the room, while brother and sister thought of what to say to each other. "So," Gwen said, speaking first. "Did you get my present?"

Greg laughed. "Yes, _thank you_. Though I don't know if you'll get many thanks from anyone else, seeing as that much sugar always manages to make me obscenely giddy and hyperactive."

"I know. That's the whole point," she said, winking at him. "Giddy Greg is always better than Grumpy Greg. And seeing as you've been grumpy for the past, oh, I don't know…_twenty years_, it's always nice to have a little break." She smiled wryly.

Greg shook his head. "You know, you better watch out, Dr. House. I hear they don't take kindly to sarcasm in this place."

"Really? Then how'd _you_ last so long?"

"Simply put: I'm brilliant."

"Ah, so that's the key. At least I know I'm safe."

"The arrogance!"

Gwen scoffed and played hurt. She sighed as another silence fell upon them. This time it was a little more comfortable. Again, Gwen broke it first. "I figured out that case I stole from you."

"I thought Cuddy decided to give it to you because it was so damn easy."

"Nah. That was just a lie I decided to tell." Despite Gwen's facetiousness, Greg knew that Cuddy gave his sister the case because she's genuinely a brilliant pediatrician. "Anyway, it's Batten Disease," she said sadly.

Greg slumped in his chair. "How is that possible? The only symptom we knew of was dementia."

"I know. Late onset – it hit her fast and _hard_. I think it's only the second documented case like this of Battens. Her other pediatricians and parents were idiots. They diagnosed her with epilepsy, but never gave her medication or the proper documentation. There was nothing in her history about her seizures. And the parents didn't think it was necessary to tell anyone about them, or the fact that the child is _adopted_. They've got no paperwork, no history – they were too dumb to tell us anything about Anna. So now their child is going to die within two months because of their incompetence. …I hate the human race. That's why I rely on animals." She exhaled loudly, angrily and with obvious relief.

Greg stifled a laugh at his sister's rant. "Careful, you're starting to sound like a certain lovable and oh-so-adorable misanthrope."

"I'm assuming you're speaking of yourself," she asked.

"Naturally," he replied. He could tell, from his sister's unkempt appearance (she was still in yesterday's clothing), that she needed to get her mind off of her patient. "Look, Lynnie…I think we should-"

"House, we've got a problem," Foreman announced, as he and his fellow employees burst into the conference room.

House stood up from his chair and stood next to his sister. "Can't you see I'm in the middle of a very important conversation?" He looked at Gwen. "Pft. Kids these days. No respect for their superiors."

Gwen laughed. "I should go, anyway. I've gotta run home and change. My second day here and I already look like a complete and utter mess." She smiled at her brother and his fellows, waving as she left.

House turned to Foreman. "So, what's your problem now, Dr. Foreman? Did one of the nurses turn you down for a romp in the supply closet?"

"Emily-"

"Who's that," House asked, looking around the room.

"Our _patient_," Cameron pointed out.

"Oh," House said nonchalantly. "What's her beef?"

"…what? Anyway, she's lost her senses of sight and smell."

"And she's made a crappy mess of her bed…literally," Chase said with amusement.

House's face contorted into a look of disgust. "Ew! TMI, Dr. Chase," House exclaimed in the voice of an eleven year old girl. "Isn't that just gross, Doctors Cameron and Foreman? Definitely something to laugh at." He threw a glare Chase's way and walked to the dry-erase board. He jotted down her new symptoms and looked at his employees. "Looks like Cameron was right," he said. "She's got a zinc deficiency. Start her on...zinc."

"That's it," Chase asked. "Just a zinc deficiency? I mean, yeah, some of the symptoms match, but _usually_ when there's a deficiency there's something else – and it's _usually_ pretty major."

"You're disagreeing with your ladylove, Dr. Chase? My, my, my – how interesting."

"I just think it's best to explore other options – that's all."

House thought about Chase's suggestion. "Okay. Go to your corners, read a medical dictionary and _pick something_," House said authoritatively. He gave his employees a bored look and left the room, walking down the hall to Wilson's office.

"Um…so are we not treating her for a zinc deficiency," Cameron asked with agitation.

"Apparently not," Foreman replied, throwing Chase _a look_.

Chase merely shrugged his shoulders and walked over to the bookcase, grabbing a medical dictionary.

"You _can't_ be serious," Cameron said.

"Why not? Do you know how many diseases and infections can be the cause Emily's symptoms? What else is there to do?"

"Treat her," Foreman suggested.

"We are," Chase retorted simply.

"No, we're not. We're sitting on our asses while House plays bored with Wilson. He obviously thinks Emily is zinc deficient. At least he did until _you_ mentioned something. Why don't we just treat her?"

"You want us to go behind House's back," Cameron asked in disbelief

"Why not? He's not going to fire us if it gets her out of his hair."

"Yeah, but he left without telling us if he had changed his mind. We can't just assume that he wants to treat her. That's so…so…"

"Unethical," Foreman asked. Cameron nodded. "So what? House doesn't give a crap about ethics – why should we?"

Cameron said nothing. She merely looked at the white board in confusion. It was clear she was having a heated debate in her head. She looked toward Foreman. "I think we should treat her."

Foreman smiled. For as uptight and prissy as Cameron could be, she was still a good doctor. "All right. What about you, Chase?"

Chase shrugged again. "Go ahead – just make sure to tell House that I had nothing to do with it. If you two kill this girl, I want no part of it."

Cameron groaned and Foreman rolled his eyes. They both got up and left, leaving Chase with nothing to do. He browsed through the dictionary he had picked out, hoping, for Cameron and Foreman's sakes, that a zinc deficiency was all Emily suffered from.

* * *

A/N: I don't know how my chapters come out so lengthy. Next chapter should be shorter, unless I get more bored than usual at work. In which case, I can't be held responsible for the lengthiness of my chapters. It stops me from taking a computer and throwing it at someone's head. …yeah, I can get violent. 


End file.
